Heat
by inelegantprose
Summary: Han, Leia and Luke are lost in space on a freezing ship. Leia tries desperately to keep things from heating up. For followfire.


A wintery piece for the season. Followfire: I know you like your drama and your pretty language and your Leia centrism, so enjoy! Thanks for being such a loyal reader and commenter! (I would've made things MORE angsty but you know I have to save that for my own fic. ;) )

Heat

I.

She was cold. Sometimes, these days, the capacity her body had to _feel_ still shocked her – which sounded melodramatic, which wasn't the point, it was moreso that post-torture and what not the idea that her senses were still nimble enough to sense a chill – such a small little feeling, mild discomfort, hurt without danger – surprised her. She'd expected her skin to grow back tougher, her whole body a great cocoon of callous, no tender spots. Like how she rarely touched herself anymore – no tender spots. An unsubtle body.

And yet: here it was, all the hair on her arms on end, princess particularity. Wondering why she was twitching a bit and frowning over another site of electric nerve damage, those jangled hotwired things, before realizing it was just a shiver. _Oh,_ she realized. _I'm just cold._

She was cold because they'd all but cut the atmospheric controls on the Falcon, to save fuel. That was because a stupid Alliance mathematics error had sent them hurtling in the total wrong direction for an arms pickup – and, in turn, leaving them with no choice but to crawl two days to an Alliance-friendly spot to refuel, as given Rebel scarcity, they'd only been allotted exactly as much fuel as the incorrect calculation said they'd needed. Needless to say it was all very embarrassing, and had led to a rather ugly shouting match between her and Solo about This-Is-Why-Your-Lot-Is-Losing-The-Damn-War-And-S'what-I-Get-For-Placing-My-Trust-In-Anyone-But-Me, which had culminated in her calling him a heartless, loveless man, him saying cooly he had plenty of folks around him to vouch otherwise – hey Ice Princess, where are yours?

To which she'd snapped _Chewie's required and Luke has a crush,_ which inevitably led to, _And which of those two is you, huh?_

Then she'd stormed out. She really had walked into that one.

Now she was hiding in the turret, moving to hug her knees for warmth. She didn't normally stoop to personal attacks so quickly, but really he'd started it. What did he think would happen, ranting when the coordinates proved wrong _Nothin'! What the hell is it about this 'Rebellion,' huh, sending me to ferry 'em places that don't ever fuckin' exist?_

As in Luke and Obi-wan, as in Alderaan. Help me, Captain Han Solo, you're my only hope. Won't you ferry me to nowhere, please?

She was just noticing the fogging of her breath, tangible misty evidence of her presence, here and then gone, when something soft but heavy hit her head, hard. She jerked up abruptly: there he was, at the entrance to the turret, frowning and trying to look disinterested. "'Case you were cold. Gave Luke the warmer one but this one's about white so."

Leia looked at the object in her arms: a dingy off-white sweatshirt, huge. "Alright," she said, frowning as well.

"Dunno what the deal with all that is," he clarified, waving his hand a bit, awkward, "But – s'alright then? You can wear it?"

"Yes, thank you," Leia said automatically. She paused, then pulled the sweatshirt on. It smelled like the smell she'd grown to realize was Han's. Its dingy color felt a little appropriate. What one of her aunts might say about a girl with a hangover, or who'd stayed up too late – that she looked dinged up, like she'd been through the autovalet a few too many times. _You're looking a little dishwater-grey, Lelila_ , if she looked especially exhausted, and then cackling. _You look like a bright sock got caught with your things, you look like you forgot the bleach._

"Good," he said, giving her a definitive nod.

Leia waited a beat, hiding her hands in their opposite sleeves, grasping her forearms so tightly her fingernails tug into her chilled flesh. _Cold, cold, dead fish cold, corpse cold, space cold, princess cold, ice queen._

She was wearing his sweatshirt, she could smell him on it, she could feel the soft places where he'd worn it down, rubbing, maybe subconsciously but the same place all the way. Something he'd gotten cozy in, lived in, the exact opposite of how he treated her and everything she believed in. Never getting too close, always making sure she – they – knew he was on the run. Like she was a rental, some undentable thing to poke at a bit, see when she spit fire. The rebellion a quick, silly gig he could pull out of any time, play both sides, maybe he was, there was no way of knowing. She nudged her nose against an especially greyed part of the collar, tugged at the drawstrings he'd chewed on absentmindedly. Horribly intimate, too intimate, but undeniably warm. Depressing, too: it wasn't like he was incapable of living inside of something it was just that he was too stupid to live inside of something that _mattered_.

She tried to imagine Han and Luke (and Chewie, as it were) wearing _her_ clothes, her old ones. Imagine they were in the same situation, but on the Tantive IV, and she'd said, _Alright, we need to keep warm, let's break these out!_ Luke wearing one of her thickest court gowns and basically fitting, Han with an overcoat tied around his waist and one of her petticoates around his neck like a poncho. Arms crossed, sulking, a dress on his head for a hat, his hands in stockings. It should've made her smile but it didn't? Because those clothes weren't worn, they could be anyone. Princess clothes, always careful to show know signs of use. Maybe they were more alike than she realized – she was reluctant to wear things down, warm things up, too.

"I suppose I should ask how you knew I was here?" She wasn't sure what she wanted from it – maybe for him to demonstrate _I know you, I know you,_ so she wouldn't feel quite so alone?

"Small ship."

"Sure."

"And you're a small lady. So put two and two together and, well, you weren't in any of the crates…"

"I do hope someday you'll come up with better ideas than mocking my gender or mocking my height."

"Sure. Soon as you let the rest of us know a little more about you than just that," he said smoothly, and her face burned. _You walked right into that too!_

"Well. Thanks for the sweatshirt," she finally said, her voice prim.

"Not a problem. You should see Luke."

"How's that?"

"Tryin' to fit into my stuff, bundled up a bajillion layers, rolling around. Damn desert rat's lips are half blue, poor kid."

"Is that an invitation to leave this place? An apology, as it were?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets and said easily, "Nope."

"Because you don't apologize," she observed cooly.

Han practically snorted. "Like you do."

"I apologize when I'm wrong, but as you may have noticed––"

"Yeah, yeah, you're always right, you've said it before, sister. Well listen. Come up before those cute little ears freeze off. Sure we can think of a few ways to keep warm."

He winked and she frowned, trying to imagine it, her pragmatist engineer mind going into predictable overdrive. She always took these things too literally. There now: her frozen lips performing a kind of crappy, icicle blowjob, maybe welding like when you like a frozen streetlamp, yuck. She'd been too cold to get naked – couldn't they just slice slits in their pants? Sometimes, she genuinely thought maybe she should go to bed with one or the other or maybe both of them, just to take the mystery of the whole thing. But even though Han insisted otherwise, Leia was pretty certain Luke was gay, with the same certainty she knew she was kind of queer herself. And Han… well. There were practical matters to consider, cultural and physical differences – he was awfully _tall_ , and she needed something quick, not that required adjustment and – gods – build-up, and of course there were all those tropes schoolgirls shared about Corellians in bed – _they all do anal on their wedding night, and they don't save anything else 'til then!_ – though that was maybe just incensed Alderaanian modesty culture producing ridiculous exaggerations.

And also there was something so sticky about him – like frost on ice, like a streetlamp, like she wouldn't be able to extricate herself so easily. Her usually strategy was always to _demystify, demystify, demystify_ but with Han – well.

Well. A small girlish part of her couldn't help but wonder what if it really was as good as the fantasy she was trying to undercut?

II.

"Let me g-g-guess," Leia said dryly, trying to keep her teeth from chattering and massaging the blue from her fingertips. "You think we should strip and h-huddle for warmth."

"Now that you mention it," Han said flatly, totally deadpan, peeved, all _I'm serious, Princess,_ fine, okay, he looked mighty serious wearing two jackets with a scarf tied around his head. "No – but none of us'll sleep any if we do the usual arrangements."

Right, the usual arrangement: Han in his cabin, Leia and Luke in the bunked crew quarters, each with their own little heater. They'd surely freeze, each their own little lonely icycle.

"We could p-p-p-pull an all-n-n-n-nighter, move to keep warm," Luke suggested, just barely lifting his lips from the kaffe from which he'd been soaking up the steam. Sweet little desert child, shivering like crazy, wrapped in blankets that'd be stripped from the beds already with three pairs of socks on each foot.

"And be f-fuckin' wiped tomorrow? Don't this so," Han snapped. They were all on their last legs, really, Leia couldn't blame him. "And anyway, Chewie took a nap so he could keep watch, no point in the rest of us stayin' up t-too."

That was a fair point – lucky Chewie, all that fur. Leia wanted desperately to take her hair down but of course she wouldn't. She was feeling every bit the tiny skinny thing they all made her out to be – her body had no heat – she let her eyes move over Han's tall form – did Han's body have heat?

"You b-boys sleep together and I'll take extra b-blankets, then," Leia said in a voice that sounded firm, grinning to herself just a bit at Luke's furtive blush, bright pink in all this blue.

"That doesn't m-m-make sense, you'll freeze––" Luke began.

"Fuckin' stupid, you're s-smallest," Han grumbled.

"If you wanted to b-b-bed me, Capt-t-tain, you didn't need to freeze me out, you know, you could m-merely ask," she hissed.

"Alright then, I'm asking," Han snapped. "Go to bed with _someone_ or f-freeze your cute little ass off."

"S-s-so smooth, Solo. What every girl dreams of, fuck me or die."

"No one said f-f-fuck!" Luke interjected anxiously. "It's a _b-b-bed._ We're all _f-f-friends_ – H-han, any idea if your bunk could do three?"

"Oh, it can."

" _Ugh_!" Leia pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're such a _p-p-parody_ of yourself!"

"Like you aren't? Frigid little _puh-puh-puh-puh-princess,_ " he was mocking her, voice, then, and she wanted to pull out her hair and scream, "her superiority an' precious _honor_ , more important than her _life_ , lose a toe to stay so aloof––"

"Knock it _off_!" Luke yelped just as Leia was about to lunge. "Just – act your age!"

"I'm m-m-merely an innocent young m-m-maiden, what do _I_ know," Leia deadpanned, before adding with real, serious venom in her voice: "And I sleep _alone_."

She expected Han to say something snide, like, _Not if you can help it,_ but instead he was peering at her curiously, his eyebrows knit. She felt the force of his eyes on her and looked into her lap.

"'Ve heard you before," he said in a low voice after a beat. "You uh – I mean. D-don't you?"

 _You – thrash, scream, cry, call out, beg, whimper…_ She could see all those words passing over his face. She gave him a fierce, dangerous look of _don't you dare say it aloud_.

"You kick, don't you," he lied, surprising her. "Yeah – 've seen your b-b-bunk after, y'kick all the sheets off, huh?"

"Yes," she said delicately, face hot, grateful and mortified to be grateful. "I k-kick in my sleep. So I can't share a bed."

Luke frowned, looking between them, knowing something was being left unsaid but not quite able to grasp it, she could tell, as Han said, still holding her gaze, "Think we can h-handle that, right kid? Little kicking?"

She shook her head. "It's quite bad. It's – I've w-woken myself up on more than one occasion."

"So then we'll all go back to sleep, r-right? Not a big deal."

"I don't think you know how b-b-bad this sort of – _kicking_ can get," she said through clenched teeth.

"Leia," he said, the use of her name surprising her, that low voice, so serious so suddenly. "It's alright."

And oh, how she wished she could believe him – an hour or so later, all of them with warm bellies too full of whiskey, having been wedged between the two of them after some bickering about it, because she was the smallest apparently she had to take the cramped middle spot even though that made her most claustrophobic, with all of the blankets pulled up to her nose, trying not to touch anyone. _I – kick._ Right. If only.

She would stay up all night. It was the only way.

"You gonna sleep on that?" Han asked casually, poking at the dense halo of braids still intact. He was still sitting up, not touching her either, while Luke had all but buried himself.

She sighed. "I'll take it down once you've hit the lights, if you promise to close your eyes."

"Weird," he muttered, shaking his head.

"We speak of this to no one, okay?" Leia said, looking between them. "I don't need any nonsense about how the three of us _went to bed together_."

"Listen, princess, I'm sure you're a great lay, but we're all just trying not to freeze our asses off here," Han said, going for the light. "Promise," he said, and just as he laid beside her the room was plunged into darkness.

III.

In whispers, in warmth, in a very drunken state of silliness:

"Hey! That itches!"

"It's my _hair_ , Luke, I can't _do_ anything about it."

"It's really staticy."

"Thank you, Han."

"I guess all the times I imagined it down I never imagined the static, huh?"

" _All the times you imagined it down?"_

"Ya gotta admit, it builds up the mystery over time…"

"Only if you're obsessed with knowing everything about a woman."

"Alright, alright, take it easy..."

"I've imagined it too. Not in a sexual – I mean not that Han's is in a – I don't know. Point is I'm with Han, didn't imagine it so – poofy."

"You figured silken locks."

"I guess?"

"Sorry to be such a disappointment, gentlemen."

"Hard living up to the hype. And believe me, there's a lot around you, sweetheart."

"Lo-o-ovely. Well, just to get it all out there – my breasts are hardly as big as those above which my face is superimposed in lockers, so. And I've many more scars."

"I hate that shit, I think it's gross. S'fuckin' degradin', fuck all that."

"How enlightened you are."

"M'serious. Guys shouldn't––"

"Masturbate to faux images of girls they don't know?"

"Uh – _sure_ , princess, if you're being blunt about it."

"They should only masturbate to mental images of girls they _do_ know."

"Hells! You're so damn self-absorbed, waltzin' in here like _both of you jerk off to my cute little face, la-di-dah_ …"

"Luke doesn't, right Luke?"

"Couldn't we just go to sleep?"

"Oh, 'cause Luke's such a good guy, not like me, right?"

"Because he's gay. Right Luke?"

"I didn't exactly want to have this conversation right now!"

"I'm sorry, I only meant to make a point – on Alderaan things are very––"

"He's not _gay_."

"Of course he is – Luke?"

"... you don't have to act like it's so _obvious_ , Leia––"

"Told you. So if anything, he comes down – or up I suppose– not with regards to me but with regards to––"

"How about none of us masturbate thinking of none of us right now, okay!"

"... well obviously not _right now_ …"

"Like you don't get off thinking of me, sweetheart."

"Guys! Stop it!"

"Actually, I don't masturbate."

"Pshh. Right. Princesses. Next thing you'll say you don't shit."

"I just happen to rarely have time, if you must know."

"Please… all those late nights, alone in the command center…"

"Han Solo you knock it off right now!"

"Oh, touched a nerve huh?"

"You're incorrigible."

"Yeah, well. You can only dish it, you can't take it."

"I'm ignoring you now."

"Good, guys, maybe then we can do what we came here to do? Sleep?"

"... are you two _cuddling_?"

"You _said_ we were supposed to keep _warm_ , Han."

"Oh, so you're icing me out now 'cause I said you rubbed one out at work."

"No one's icing you out. Luke and I are merely keeping warm."

"You're _spooning_."

"And we're getting very warm while doing so, aren't we Luke?"

"Guys… sleep…"

"Well fine, don't be jerks, don't leave me out."

"Nope, I'm still mad at you – _Han!_ Stop – that _tickles_ ––!"

"Keep me warm, princess, alright?"

"I swear to god if I wake up and you're––"

"And I'm what, huh?"

"Stop it – you know – _I can hear you grinning_ ––"

"You're so funny, you really can only dish it, you're fuckin' adorable – Luke, ain't she adorable?"

"You're _drunk_!"

"And you aren't?"

"You're both drunk, and I liked it better when you were fighting – now shut up and go to sleep!"

She should've stayed up all night, she would think later – she should've not had anything to drink, and stayed up all night, or better insisted on sleeping solo. She should've made sure no one was anywhere near her. She should've not embarrassed herself. She should've not been wedged between the two people whose – if she was being honest – opinions and feelings now mattered to her most in the world when, at three a.m., predictably, she was crying and whimpering and thrashing wildly to try to get out of Vader's hold and there it was, it had been so ephemeral, all the good feelings like warmth in the cold – vapors, vanished… _home, home, bursting, dying, her mother, melting, her father, bursting, fire, everywhere, nothingness, her fault, her fault––_

She was half-awake suddenly, a sob catching in her throat and then gasping out of her, than another, her eyes fogged up with her tears, trying in vain to see in the dark – she was being held very tight, too tight, so that as her leg jerked to spasm outward wildly her thigh was caught, gripped tight, at her knee – the sobbing sounds kept tumbling out of her mouth – and too, someone's voice, hers she realized, crying coarsely, " _No! No-no-no, please! Please, I'll do anything_ ––!" until her mouth met, improbably, the soft, worn fabric of a coat.

"S'alright, sweetheart." The low voice soothing her was tired and calm, as if it'd been at this for awhile. "S'alright now, you're okay, you're right here honey, you're safe, you're okay…"

She kept sobbing into the coat, feeling her arm tremble outwards again – and again it was locked down, not painfully, just firmly. Her other hand, she realized, was clutching something – the collar of the coat.

"Mmm…" she heard – a sleepy mumble. "Wha's – wha's going on…?"

"Go back to sleep, Luke. Got it under control."

"Mm… Lei…?" She could hear, then, the voice patting at the space beside him, hitting only mattress, making confused sounds.

"She's right here. S'fine. Go back to sleep."

The crying voice again. "N-n-no… p-p-please.."

"I know, sweetheart, but you're alright, sh-sh, you're safe, you're fine."

Her torso trying to flail, spasm – " _Please!_ " – but not doing so, gripped firmly and held tight, pressure on the top of her head, like lips.

"Hey, gotcha, not gonna let you go, you're alright." The sleepy, tired voice. "Just hold on here honey. You're alright."

Her consciousness finally started to make an appearance, then. She couldn't see because she was in the dark, still, but she could feel herself, curled up in a kind of fetal huddle, half on top of Han, his one arm wrapped tight around her torso and arm, his other one around her legs, so tight, so she couldn't thrash and hurt herself. She was clutching at his collar, her lips pressed just below her hands. _Honey._ She'd never heard him call her that. The crying sounds kept coming, but they were softer now. They were from her, of course.

"There you go. That's right. Sh now..." And she could feel his body relax – like he was drifting back into sleep, like he'd never really left. Comforting her an automatic reaction, easy enough to do in his sleep.

She felt – safe. The pressure on her body didn't feel claustrophobic made her feel like she wouldn't spin out of control, she was grateful for it. Like the turret, like the sweatshirt. She drew in a shuddering breath and was surprised that she could see it, the cold gasp of it a silver smokey film in the freezing air.

Surprised – which was in and of itself surprising, because it'd been freezing for hours, non-stop, their breath visible since she'd been in the turett. Why should she be surprised?

She took stock of her small body, the pale, icy one that always felt so blue, its pointy hip bones, its talon fingers. And lying there, cuddled up against this man in the wintery unforgiving cold of space she realized she suddenly felt it – _warmth_.


End file.
